


Stitched Up Clowns

by paradajka



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Emetophobia, Gen, Mentions of Canon Relationships, Mentions of Violence, Needles, Serious Injuries, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradajka/pseuds/paradajka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last troll what you want to see when you're all fulla holes and puking up blood is Kurloz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gamzee

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this picture](http://sumssang.tumblr.com/post/35981592806) (cw: blood, tears, needles, trypophobia) by sumssang on tumblr.

Last troll what you want to see when you're all fulla holes and puking up blood is Kurloz. Motherfucker finds you always whether you're wanting to be found or not and it gets to bringing your Rage back up when all you're wishing is for it to go away. 

You're all hidden up where no one ought to be finding you, but if a troll was having to you'd rather Karkat to get his tell on about how pan-less you're being to follow your Lord when he's not wanting you around while wrapping you up in useless bandages. You'd rather even Terezi to be getting her cane out and prodding up at the holes where the shootmarbles went in and out and cackling too loud at the purple till you were wanting to crush her squeakbox into too many pieces to ever fix. But instead you're getting Kurloz and his quiet until his 'voodoos get to crushing into your pan in ways you ain't yet figured out how to drive away.

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, BARD? he all asks in his way what don't use any muscles or lips or nothing, his face probably still stuck up in that false, thready smile.

"What's it motherfucking look like?"

YOU ARE TO BE SERVING OUR LORD. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO LEAVE HIM WHILE HE IS MOST IN NEED OF YOUR ASSISTANCE?

You can feel his scowl up inside you and the fact he don't know SHIT about what's going on up at where Caliborn's being makes you snort loud. It all does something weird up at your throat to make you cough out some of what's left inside you and you get some instant regret on 'cause the moving it takes to be doing that makes your holes get to hurting and you let out some weak-ass groan what's embarrassing in front of someone you ain't quadranted with. 

Kurloz all sighs out through his breatheholes, exhaling loud enough for you to hear probably on purpose. He don't say nothing. He don't impress nothing either, and that's a first from him. You can't imagine the fucker tongue-tied. 

There's a flash of colour what blinds you temporarily, pink and yellow and blue all across your vision, then not a minute later he's stabbing at you with something small and sharp. You yelp and near flip over, Rage building up so as you could think to be biting his head clean off if you had more energy. As is, you flop back down, hurting all the fuck over.

"Don't _touch_ ," you manage to get out through teeth grit so hard you can feel them grinding flatter. Whatever he stuck in you is still there. You reach back but the fabric-feel of his hand stops you from getting it out.

"Get. It. _Out._ "

That breath-sigh again. SILENCE. FATE HAS BROUGHT ME HERE TO ASSIST YOU AND I INTEND TO DO OUR LORD'S BIDDING BY FIXING YOU SO THAT YOU MAY RECLAIM YOUR REVERED POSITION IN THE HISTORY OF THE ONE TRUE MESSIAH, ANGEL OF DOUBLE DEATH AND—

" _Fine_. Just stop with your mind-noise and get on with it." You're pretty sure he's trying his calming 'voodoos on you and it's making your pan throb as much as every other part of you already was. 

Kurloz doesn't say a word, but you're sure he's to be nodding in agreement. The needle works its way in and out of your skin, binding together what don't want to be fixed. Hurts lots, but you know it ain't gonna kill you if the Messiah's gun wouldn't. 

You'd laugh about how good he's gotta be getting at stitches by now if laughing wouldn't start at pulling them enough to make what's stopped bleeding start up again.


	2. Kurloz

You discover your young ancestor in a hidden corner of a bubble, face down in a pool of his own blood. He breathes, ragged and pained, proof that he is indeed alive. You would be surprised at his ability to survive such injury had you not been privy to many spiritual texts during your time on Beforus that stated that the Chosen One was blessed with divine immortality. Texts you are not entirely sure the Chosen One himself has knowledge of.

There is much excitement to seeing the birth of everything you were taught in wigglerhood, alongside the Great Vanquishing prophesized for millennia. To have a role in all of this, however small, is a much greater thrill. You are the silent force behind everything, the one tasked with nudging the Bard in the proper direction.

WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, BARD? you ask. He should be with your Lord.

"What's it motherfucking look like?" You can feel his anger pulsing in the air around you, his indignation at your inquiry bringing his Rage to the surface. Your lips pull themselves into a smile at his seeming inability to control what has been as natural as breathing to you for so long, before you are again reminded of the gravity of the situation. Gamzee cannot spend his time here when it is owed to the Angel.

YOU ARE TO BE SERVING OUR LORD. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO LEAVE HIM WHILE HE IS MOST IN NEED OF YOUR ASSISTANCE?

An undiginified snort escapes his throat, followed by a coughing fit wherein he expels more blood, adding to the pool that surrounds him. He moans in the most pitiable of ways. You are certain that at your worst, consumed with pain from what needed to be inflicted upon yourself, you were never this _weak_. Your Mituna on his worst nights has never appeared so pathetic. 

He would not be your concern were he not so vital to everything you have worked toward your entire life and death in turn. As it is, you shall have to mend his flesh so that he is able to go back to his duties. 

You pull a needle and thread from your sylladex, hunching over his battered body and beginning the tedious task of sewing it up. 

Despite the pain he must feel from each of the holes, it's the first prick of the needle that causes him to screech and attempt to squirm away. You draw back, as his Rage blends with his 'voodoos and he attacks you blindly. This ability he possesses, to flip from calm to anger, makes him hard to read. 

"Don't _touch_ ," he tells you, pushing harder at your pan. He reaches back with a shaking hand to remove the needle from where it is stuck in his flesh, but you deftly stop him before he is able. 

"Get. It. _Out_." The words are very nearly being pressed into your mind. His refusal to accept the aid you are offering draws your ire. He has been using his powers in your vicinity for too long; it is time for you to strike back with your own. 

SILENCE, you tell him, extending your Rage to calm his agitation. FATE HAS BROUGHT ME HERE TO ASSIST YOU AND I INTEND TO DO OUR LORD'S BIDDING BY FIXING YOU SO THAT YOU MAY RECLAIM YOUR REVERED POSITION IN THE HISTORY OF THE ONE TRUE MESSIAH, ANGEL OF DOUBLE DEATH AND—

" _Fine_. Just stop with your mind-noise and get on with it."

That you can do. You are well-practiced at sewing, and have no trouble sealing the holes caused by your Messiah. You presume it was always known you would arrive at this time to repair the Bard's wounds and that realization sends a chill down your spine. Though inevitable and etched into the fabric of time itself, the prophecies you've known by heart for so long always find ways to amaze you.


End file.
